


In the Dark of a Room

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: Breakout Kings
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage (Other), Canon Character of Color, Canon Het Relationship, Character of Color, Community: kink_bingo, Community: poetry_fiction, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, F/M, Female Character of Color, Hand Jobs, Het and Slash, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Multi, Obedience, Rare Fandoms, Rare Pairing, Threesome - F/M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie and Ray have an agreement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dark of a Room

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://poetry-fiction.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**poetry_fiction**](http://poetry-fiction.dreamwidth.org/) 's [July Comment Fic Challenge](http://poetry-fiction.dreamwidth.org/10844.html) and [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/).

They have an agreement.

If Ray is good, then he can listen in. He sits in a chair in the corner and wears a blindfold. He's not allowed to make a sound or jerk off. Charlie's stupid freakin' rules.

But Ray gives in, 'cause Charlie won't touch him — and he kinda gets the sick feeling that Charlie might not _ever_ touch him — and he wants to be good enough to get fucked. Some day and _soon_.

The breath he takes stutters in his chest and gets lodged in his throat when Marisol pats his forearm. Her touch is lighter, fingers slimmer than Charlie's, and Ray can't figure out why she does that. If it's her way of saying she's okay with this or if it's her way of seein' if he is.

Ray just has to remember: don't move and don't make a sound.

Which is really freakin' hard.

He's straining to hear and feels like he's picking up every small little thing, like the creak of the springs, the headboard bouncing off the wall when Marisol and Charlie settle on the bed together. They never say anything, and Ray can't figure out if it's 'cause he's in the room, bound to a chair by nothing more than Charlie putting him there, or if it's them, so focused on each other that they don't need words. Ray can't freaking _see_.

He flexes his fingers around the arms of the chair and breathes, one slow breath in and one slow breath out, and then Marisol moans and the entire exercise is ruined.

Ray shudders when he thinks he hears the slide of — fingers? Charlie's cock? — sliding into Marisol's wet pussy, the sound of it thick, her moan even louder. God, she must be drenched. Ray wonders if Charlie even bothered to undress her or if he just shoved her panties aside and went all in. He doesn't _know_.

"Charlie," she breathes, and Ray, who can't see one freaking thing anyway, squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, strains to hear more.

All there is is Marisol, each breath shaky, each moan broken by another, rising, and Charlie's name threaded through it all until Ray's whole head is nothin' but _Charlie, Charlie, Charlie_.

"There we go, baby," Charlie says, soft, and Ray, stuck in his head the way he is, thinks maybe Charlie's talking to him.

Thinks maybe he's been good.

So he doesn't shift, even though he wants to, even though his cock is straining so hard in his jeans that he feels like it's gonna bust the zipper. That and the ache in his knuckles from holding the arms of the chair so hard — it all becomes a low-level throb that moves thick and sweet through his body in the same way that he imagines Charlie's sliding into Marisol now. Every muscle in his body tightens just thinkin' about Charlie pushing into him, stretching him wide with the blunt head of his cock 'til he bottoms out and pins Ray to the bed.

Can't make a sound, he reminds himself, even though he wants to mirror Marisol's moans, pictures himself holding onto the headboard as Charlie fucks him — short, sharp, enough to make the whole bed creak the way it's creaking now.

"Yes," Marisol hisses. "Charlie—"

Ray has to keep his jaw clenched shut and breathes hard through his nose. There's a ring developing in his ears, but it doesn't drown out Charlie fucking his wife. Or maybe she's riding him. The picture in Ray's head suddenly flips, and he sees Charlie sprawled on the bed, gripping Marisol's hips (his own) and watching them with Marine-level focus as they fuck themselves on his dick.

Ray shakes and nearly chokes on his next breath to keep himself from moaning.

Then there's a groan, too deep, shuddering too long in the room to be anything but Charlie. It's over too fast and Ray can't breathe. He doesn't know when he checked out and missed the build, the rhythm of the bed and their bodies and the sound of 'em climaxing together. He can't freaking breathe or see or _move_. He's not ready for the finish, has no come down and nothin' to hold onto.

His head is buzzing, the ringing in his ears growing louder in the silence. He's chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep from voicing the _come over here_ echoing in his head, 'cause all he wants is _Charlie to touch him_.

"Mmmm," Marisol hums, soft and lazy.

The bedsprings creak, and Ray thinks he's gonna whimper and ruin it for himself after he's been so good this whole time. Not a word or a sound or a move out of him, and a whimper, the _hope_ of being rewarded all gone because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Ray." That single word feels like permission to take a breath, and Ray does, a great big gulp of it as he lifts his head, no idea where Charlie is, just knowin' he's gotta be close.

"Touch me," bursts out of him anyway, and his shoulders are shaking because he's messed up and _big_ — damn it — but Charlie hushes him up with two fingers on his mouth.

"Ray, it's okay," Charlie says, and he's squeezing Ray's hands. "Let go of the chair. You were good."

"Is he—"

But Charlie cuts off her question with, "He will be. Ray?" He's listening. Of course he's freakin' listening, but the second, "Ray," is a string in his head, dangling just out of reach.

"Kiss me," Ray says in one rush of air, and somehow, he's gripping the chair more tightly, hopin' Charlie's not gonna let him go. "Please," is an afterthought, an apology, and a freakin' wing and a prayer.

Charlie is naked — has to be, no way he got dressed that fast — and he kisses Ray. It's good, great, just what Ray needed, but Ray, selfish jerk that he can be, wants more, wants to touch Charlie and get his mouth around Charlie's dick, show him how good it can be, how good _Ray_ can be.

He holds onto the chair, though, and opens his mouth to the slick, thick slide of Charlie's tongue, moaning into the pressure of Charlie's mouth on his.

"Honey." The sound of Marisol's voice quakes through Ray, and he freezes. "Why don't you … ?"

Then, just that quick, Charlie's gone, and Ray's licking his lips like that'll help him keep the kiss. He's getting out of the chair. He's getting out of the chair so Charlie can either shove him into it or let him go and find a quick hook up in a bathroom bar or somethin' 'cause Ray can't do this anymore, can't sit here and wait when waiting hasn't gotten him anything but blue balls and tender skin from chewin' the inside of his cheeks so hard.

"Here," she says.

Ray has no idea what's going on, but it doesn't matter. He's letting go.

He groans, the sound crawling broken and rough up his throat when Charlie gets his jeans open and his cock free. Broad fingers, firm and lube-slick grip, tight squeeze — Ray's so grateful that he nearly cusses but remembers that Marisol's in the room and Charlie might be sensitive about that. He's not gonna mess up when he's just gotten what he's been craving for months now. So he drops his head back and rides Charlie's fist, desperate and fast, afraid Charlie's gonna let go and make him hold on a little longer.

"Ray," Charlie says, and Ray wants to say _no_ and _don't you freakin' dare_ , because the implicit command in Charlie's tone can only mean one thing.

There's an extra set of hands — Marisol, still in the room, touching Ray, massaging his hands until she can pry his fingers loose.

"There we go," she whispers, and Ray moans, shuddering, when she wraps his hand around Charlie's naked shoulder.

Charlie's got muscle. Ray knew that, of course. It's freakin' obvious that Charlie's got muscle, but the ripple of 'em beneath his palms, the solid, hard definition of them under his fingers — there's a lot of strength there and strength that Ray wants to feel holding him down, _putting him down_. He wants Charlie to take a crop to his ass, and that gets jumbled into a whole list of demands that seem out of place when he was pretty sure Charlie touching him was all he wanted.

"Hold onto me," Charlie says, and Ray's grateful that Marisol is helpin' him out here, because he's shaking too hard, lost behind the blindfold and the squeeze and stroke of Charlie's fingers.

She gets his other hand loose, and the pet of her fingers over his is one more sensation Ray gets broken by, because he's not expectin' it. He was good — has _been_ good — and now Charlie's touching him — _they're_ touching him — and Ray rocks into each twist of Charlie's fist, his balls drawing up at the same time that he jerks on Charlie and drags him into another hot kiss. Charlie's teeth cutting his lip quake all the way down to Ray's gut. From there, it spreads, and Ray comes, bullet-quick and just as shattering, bowing out of his chair and moaning into Charlie's mouth, shaking beneath the light press of Marisol's hand still on his forearm.

He hangs for a moment between the stuffy white noise in his head and the tightness of his body, all knotted up 'cause Charlie's got a hold of his dick. Then he slumps, hands dropping into air before colliding into the chair, but the thump of 'em, the brief, bright sting, only add to the cloud he's floating on.

"I'll get it," Marisol says. Ray's got no idea what she's talking about and doesn't care.

Charlie's tellin' him he's been good, and the words pulse warm through him. There's more touching, more soft words between Marisol and Charlie, and some prodding. The only sound Ray makes is when one of 'em touches the blindfold. He's not ready to let that go yet — wasn't really willing to let go of the chair — so there's a soft shh and then he's being stretched out on the bed, wiped clean, and held.

"Charlie," he says, but it's all the words he can form. It's the one buzzing the loudest in his head.

 _Don't wait so freakin' long next time_ , can wait 'til Ray's on solid ground again. Right now, he's on Charlie's and Marisol's, and if they're gonna let him stay, then he's staying right where they put him.


End file.
